King's Day
by fiesa
Summary: The bells ring. Clarines celebrates. One Shot- Izana Wistalia. Four conversations and a coronation.


**King's Day**

 _Summary: The bells ring. Clarines celebrates. One Shot- Izana Wistalia. Four conversations and a coronation._

 _Warning: -_

 _Set: Coronation arc, ch. 50-53._

 _Disclaimer: Standards apply._

* * *

 _All hail the queen!_

The bells ring.

A chapter ends, a book closes.

Clarines celebrates until long into the night.

* * *

"Izana."

He cannot remember when he last has heard that tone in his mother's voice before, if ever. Queen Haruto has not spent much time in Wistalia for the past few years, and whenever he would go to visit or confer with her, they would talk business. Princes do not have mothers in the same way other children have mothers, he always knew. And he never resented her for it. Now, there is something in her voice he never before realized could be.

Crown Prince Izana Pax Wistalia, First Prince of Clarines and Heir to the Throne, straightens as the queen steps into his chambers, and so do all his advisors and attendants. Royally, she sweeps them out with a wave of her hand.

"Leave us."

The door closes with a soft sound and Her Majesty Queen Haruto of Clarines turns into Haruto, Izana's mother.

"I just arrived. I thought I'd come to talk to you before I receive you and Zen formally."

She steps closer. Izana half-expects her to embrace him and tenses, unintentionally. But she just touches and holds his face gently with both her hands; angles it so she can look at him properly. She…

She seems small. Was she always so much smaller than him?

The words come so easily he is almost surprised. "Welcome back, Mother."

She smiles – enigmatic, open, honest, secretive. Izana has long given up trying to read anything from her face. In that regard, he thinks, they might be quite similar. How is it that Zen can never hide anything when his mother and brother are so adept at this game of politics all three of them were born into?

"It is good to see you, Izana."

With startling clarity, he realizes that the undercurrent in her voice is love.

Her lips, when she kisses his forehead, are warm and soft. Izana is immediately thrown back into his childhood: her gentle and firm hand when she held his, the cadence of her words when he was perched on her lap, falling asleep, and his mother and father were quietly discussing matters of state. He likes to think he was a lucky child: he knew both his parents, and was loved by them.

She holds his hands longer than necessary when he steps back again, gazing at him intently. "Are you still sure?"

He has known this day would come long before her letter arrived. She knows this, too, and yet she is concerned. It is only natural, he supposes.

It makes him smile in relief. "I am, Mother."

She smiles, too. "Ready, too. I am so proud of you. Your father would be proud, as well."

There is nothing he can say to that. Izana swallows past a lump that has formed in his throat and sinks back into his chair. Quietly, he watches his mother as she wanders through his – formerly her – office, stopping here and there to touch the backs of the worn, leather-bound books.

"Izana." She stops by the windows, straightens and turns to look at him, and her face is serious. "Once you ascend the throne, on whom are you going to rely?"

There is so much he could answer, here. Names he could name. People he could choose, has already chosen in the past. Might choose again, depending the situation. People he trusts, people he wants to trust but knows he should not. People he loves too much to give up, and people he might come to love. But something blocks his voice, makes him waver.

He has not hesitated in years. Now, the silence stretches between them, endlessly.

When his mother smiles, she does not look like she is angry or even disappointed. "I will ask you again, tomorrow."

Izana nods.

"Good." Haruto claps her hands together, business-like. Smiling. "One last thing. You reached an agreement with the Allurion House?"

"Of course."

"So?" The way she holds her head, the way the cadence of her voice tilts on the single syllable – it is familiar. Zen talks that way, too.

"Everything is settled."

She crosses the room in a few steps and looks at him again, intently, and there is no trace of humor left in her eyes. Blue ice and tempered steel.

"Are you sure about this, as well?"

This is a question he can answer easily. "Yes." He holds her gaze, unwavering, and, after a few seconds, she relents.

"So be it, then. I assume you are going along with your initial plan?"

"Yes."

"Just like your father. He preferred the simple and quick paths, not the long-winded ones. Your council will suffer a collective apoplexy."

"Let them."

Another smile, bright and warm this time, and laced with a certain amount of humor. "This penchant of favoring strong-willed woman seems to run in the family, as well."

He snorts. "Wait till you see Zen's princess."

"Aha!" Haruto laughs. "I heard a lot about the apothecary with the apple-red hair. I am looking forward to meeting her. Though not this time, I am afraid." She sweeps towards the door again, leaving the room brighter than it had been before. "I will summon you and Zen tomorrow. I want to talk to him before, so try not to annoy him too much tonight, okay?"

"The fun things are never allowed..."

"Izana. _Behave_."

Despite her very motherly reprimand her last glance is warm as she leaves the room, and a tiny bit sorrowful. Apparently she, too, can sense it. Izana feels… _relieved_.

"Until later, Mother."

* * *

From the moment he turned six, Izana had always known that the crown would be his, one day.

He had equally known that love was a luxury kings seldom were able to indulge in.

* * *

"Your Majesty. Lord and Lady Allurion have arrived."

"Very well. Lead them in."

Izana waits in one of his smaller office rooms, one that he happens to like because it is wide and open. The blue sky is visible through the skylights. Someone has opened the doors to the balcony, and the scent of summer wind and blooming wisteria saturates the air. Of the two people entering, the woman catches his eye first, as she has so many times in the past. She is slightly smaller than he is, with a fragile stature and bird-like features. But her presence seems so much larger than her, making it impossible to overlook her. Next to her brother, however, she seems small, almost child-like.

"Lady Haki. Lord Allurion."

"Your Majesty."

"I hope you had a good trip." He directs his words at her brother and at her, at the same time.

Lord Makiri Allurion answers, his deep voice polite and calm. "Yes, thank you, Mylord." But he throws his sister a sharp glance. Which she pointedly ignores, a tiny smile on her lips the only indication that she has not only seen but understood.

Izana never developed the habit of deluding himself.

Haki Allurion is very beautiful and fiercely intelligent. She hails from one of the oldest families of the realm, and, as the administrator of Lyrias' City of Healers, has gathered a vast experience regarding bureaucracy and organization. Despite her age, she also has shown an accurate and spot-on intuition when it comes to people. But those are not his reasons. Izana is not marrying the only daughter of the Allurion family because she is pretty and clever, or because her family is influential, despite the missing wealth. There are two reasons why he proposed to her: One; because the Allurion, up in the North, have kept the peace of Lyrias for almost two decades now. And two; because allying himself with the family gives him access to their famous utter loyalty, as well as leverage when it comes to keeping the peace in the North; especially when the Bergatt have grown influential enough again in the past years to once again attempt to usurp the throne.

History repeats itself in circles.

"Congratulations on your coronation, Your Majesty." Whether the lord likes him or not, his bow is reverent. The Allurion motto: _Loyalty is our strength._ "We are honored to be of service to you."

Izana feels his smile stretch over his lips and does what he always does, the thing that cowers the most seasoned lords and most arrogant ladies: he confronts them with the ugly truth of their schemes. "You are selling your sister to me, Lord Allurion."

Instead of shocked stuttering and lying excuses, Makiri Allurion _grins._ His smile is all defiance and sharp teeth, and Izana's gambit drops to the marble stone floor with a soft clatter and rolls out of sight. His father was a diplomat through and through, slippery like an eel, and Izana wonders, slightly intrigued, where those genes went. Not to his heir, apparently. "I would die before I sell my sister to anyone, Your Majesty included. Haki makes her own decisions, and she chose you."

Next to her brother's predator smile, the woman in question looks sweet and docile like a lamb.

The first time Izana met Lady Haki Allurion he was sixteen years old, so she must have been around thirteen. Already then, though, she wore the air of certainty that he could almost taste: it made him, oddly, think of the ocean. Today, there is an unreadable but mild expression in her eyes. He remembers a different time, tries to reconcile the girl with the woman in front of him. Fixes her with his glance and takes care to keep his voice bland.

"You chose me, Mylady?"

She smiles; he can see it flash before she bows her head in something that could be taken as respectful acquiesce but he thinks might just be a means to hide her expression.

"Yes, Mylord."

"The people would say that I chose you as my bride and not the other way round; would they not?"

She looks up at him and shrugs, gracefully. "Who am I to contradict the people, Your Majesty."

He regards her. "So you simply believe and accept gossip."

Another one of his tactics: attack the people before they realize they are being attacked, because the best defense is a good offense. And that is doubly true for a prince - and a king.

"Oh, no." The smile that flashes on her face is lovely, a flower blooming. And, at the same time, it carries the same edge her brother's smile has: sharp, unrelenting. Proud: a rose knowing about her thorns, and using them _._ "You will find that I have my own way of dealing with gossip."

"That sounds dangerous."

She does not lower her head anymore. The thick strands of light hair frame her face in the traditional style of the North and enhance her beauty; there is nothing between him and the fierce intelligence in her eyes. She is similar to him, Izana already felt it when he met her for the first time. And yet, there is a difference; something that distances them from each other.

Izana never was kind, never will be.

She is. "I will never be a threat to you, Your Majesty."

He laughs in surprise, sharp and brittle, a sound like splinters piercing flesh. "As long as I am no threat to your family."

She does not flinch. Instead, she meets his eyes again: hers are steady and grey, the ocean after a storm. "Will you ever be, Mylord?"

Is this, he wonders, what people see when they look at him? A calm, collected face that reveals next to nothing? What is he supposed to tell her? This is no fairytale castle, and he is no fairytale king. Marrying him makes her a target.

And yet, here she is.

"Mylady. Let me have the servants show you your quarters."

She curtseys, smiling. "Thank you, Mylord."

* * *

Once upon a time, there was a girl standing in the falling snow, still as a statue.

A flash of a thought. _Maybe_ _–_

* * *

Izana has no illusions about romance.

Love is for children, for those who have the time and carry no responsibilities. For the naïve and innocent. He is neither: instead, he is realistic. There is nothing like love at first sight. Nothing like eternal love. Nothing like unconditional love: nothing in the world is for free. Nothing in the world can be gained without giving away something and, consequently, losing something of oneself.

That is not what makes him hesitate, though.

The loss, he could stand. He has given himself to Clarines completely, after all, so what little he is left with, why not give it away, as well? No. It is the change he dreads, the shift in balance. It is easy to rule a country, easy to take his subjects' best interests to heart. But to love a single person, and to be loved in return? How can he continue ruling a whole country, if he cares too much for one person?

(Zen is different.)

Izana has no time for romance. Love is a luxury the second prince might indulge in, as long as he does not abandon his duty. This, in essence, might be the only advantage of being born second: Zen is free to love, if he so desires. But Izana – he is not free. He is bound to his country, bound to Clarines with all its vassal states and provinces. Bound to his honor and duty and responsibility. And to him, this includes complete and utter devotion. Setting the barbed, blood-thirsty sword that is love right onto his chest means endangering everything he has literally lived for up to this moment, and intends on living for in the future.

 _His_ chest?

That might even be easier than the actual thing. But placing his love on _someone else_ is unthinkable. Impossible. How could he subject anyone he loves to the dangers of being loved by the king?

(Again, Zen is different. There is a reason Izana picked Mitsuhide, after all.)

Consequently, he picked Haki: fiercely intelligent, dedicated, loyal. Dutiful. If anyone could understand and be the partner he wishes for, it might be her.

* * *

 _(At least, that is what he would like to believe.)_

* * *

The summer air is warm and fragrant. Outside his window, Izana can hear voices; clear and distinct. It is not uncommon for the public to gather in front of the castles' balconies, but usually, it is either him or Zen who –

 _Ah._

"Is the Queen making her appearance?"

Lord Haruka looks up from his discussion with Lord Zakuro. "I believe so, Your Majesty. She mentioned she wanted to talk to Prince Zen, and then show herself to the public."

He looks grumpy, as usual. The white-haired lord is a pain in the ass when it comes to things he feels are not in order. He is also a meticulous researcher and tireless, more-than-able bureaucrat, and Izana values him for that and more.

Then he is distracted by a flash of gold and royal blue that passes by on the balcony adjacent to his office windows, and by the smaller figure that follows.

"I beg your pardon, Your Majesty," Lord Haruka says and sounds just sufficiently apologetic enough that Izana feels no urge to frown at him. "Do you already have plans for the Second Prince, once you have ascended the throne?"

"Do you ask because you think I am worried about my younger brother's status and ambitions?"

The lord blinks, taken aback, and really, he should be used to Izana by now, should he not.

"I will ascend the throne, Lord Haruka, and will marry, in accordance to your and the council's wishes. My brother will remain my official heir until I have children of my own. These are my plans. Do you disagree with any of them?"

Lord Haruka glares at the floor. "Of course not, Your Majesty."

"Good." Izana lets parts of his sharpness trickle out of his words. "I know you worry for the kingdom, Lord Haruka. Rest assured that I am doing everything in my power to protect Clarines, and that my brother does, too."

He does not look convinced, but he bows. Izana sighs internally: some people only understand harshness and arrogance. The next time he doubts his king, the king will not merely use calm to get his point across.

Outside, the procession on the balcony has stopped, and Izana's mother steps forward. At her right shoulder is another figure, proud and straight.

He looks so grown up these days.

Zen.

King Kain died shortly after his second son's sixth birthday, Zen barely remembers him. One year later, Queen Haruto left the court to move her residence to Wilant. Zen grew up with a host of nurses, tutors and attendants but without the parents that have taught Izana so much, that showed their love to him so easily. Izana, almost a decade older, had not realized the implications until teachers and servants had begun complaining about the Second Prince's failing attention and general misbehavior. It was not easy, being the de-facto ruler of a castle at the age of fifteen. It also was not easy, assuming parental responsibility for an eight-year-old. Izana had always felt responsible for his little brother; but he was not King Kain, not Queen Haruto. Thinking back, he is almost painfully glad that he, apparently, set the right example, that Zen did not grow up to despise him but still deferred to him as elder brother and crown prince. Izana has always been quick to assume responsibility, be it for a country or for a child.

Still, Zen is different. Different in so many ways: Izana loves him, even if he uses every opportunity to tease him. He also is not afraid of loving him, because his little brother has shown that he can protect himself often enough. It is something Izana expects and demands of a prince of Clarines. He also expects Zen to work tirelessly for the good of the kingdom and its people; dutifully, loyally. And his brother has never failed him, never will.

For that, Izana loves him.

Loves him for the person he is today and for the little boy who tried so hard to hold a sword that was far too large and heavy for him, despite the tears running down his face.

The memory makes him smile.

He will talk to Zen once more before the coronation.

* * *

"Is everything ready?"

"It is, Mylord."

* * *

Sometimes, Izana wonders.

He has been groomed to be the king of Clarines for his entire life. Does that make him a good choice, or a bad one? Having studied and lived his entire life for this goal, does it make him a good or a bad prince?

Until today, he cannot explain to himself how it is that he never hated the thought, or feared it. Responsibility is nothing to be afraid of, he learned early enough, and neither is duty and loyalty. The only thing he fears is failure.

That, and – losing Zen.

Knowing exactly how to challenge his brother in order to let him grow – does it make him a good brother, or a bad one?

* * *

The soft scratch of pen on parchment.

How little it takes to sign the entirety of his life away.

* * *

Coronation Day.

This is what Izana sees:

The chapel is full of people. They stand, silent, as if holding their breath; row upon row. In the benches, at the windows, on the balconies. Colors and contours blur, it is like passing a living landscape in a carriage that is faster than the mind's eye can follow. A memory remains, nothing else is left: shadows and glimpses; flashes of polished brass and steel; furs, belt buckles, coat-of-arms. Flowers – wisteria, tulips, yolantha, berenene, lady's breath. Purple velvet and dark-blue, heavy materials despite the summer heat. The King's Guard, in full regalia. The Palace Guard. Representatives of all four frontier garrisons, and every province of Clarines. The diplomats, their spouses, their children. And nobles, rows upon rows of nobles, the Lords and Ladies of the Realm, decked out in their finest clothes. All of them, waiting: for their new king.

This is what Izana hears:

The silence-that-is-no-silence. The rustling of silk and furs and velvet, the tinkle of swords and medals and colliers. The soft cough of someone clearing his throat and stopping again, mortified. The steps that walk down the aisle, measured, the way the heels of his boots ring on the polished marble floor. The silence that is louder than anything he ever imagined before.

This is what Izana thinks:

 _Don't they feel hot in those heavy robes?_

* * *

On the dais at the end of the aisle, Zen is waiting, his face shadowed by the large headdress; his expression expressionless.

For a second, the heartbeat of a second, the echo of a heartbeat, Izana thinks –

 _No._

Then, it is gone again.

The Archbishop looks over the rapt audience meaningfully and begins to speak.

"People of Clarines, we have gathered here today to witness…"

Duty.

Loyalty.

Obligation.

Devotion.

Izana has known the vows by heart since he turned eight years old.

 _No going back. No second chances._

The heavy weight of Clarines' crown settles on his head and forces all the air from his lungs. He closes his eyes, carefully breathing around the crushing weight. _One year at the time._ Takes care to seem calm, outside, so the people will take this as a moment of contemplation and not of weakness. Weakness is something Izana, Crown Prince of Clarines, might have been able to show with the people forgiving him. But Izana, King of Clarines, cannot expect such leniency anymore.

He does not accept weakness in himself anyway.

He forces himself to open his eyes and the first thing he sees is Zen. Zen, still standing in front of him; a watchful, expectant presence. Zen, who crowned him with his own hands. Zen, his baby brother, who he has teased and tricked and dragged and dared, praying silently, all the while, that he would learn the right lesson, take this the right way. He never could be sure, of course. There had been times when Izana had thought he had lost him. But Zen always came back, loyal, dutiful, stubborn, amazing Zen, always was there when he needed him and often even if he did not. Now, as their eyes meet, Izana sees his younger brother's face free of the shadows of the chapel and the headdress for the first time. And what he sees makes him smile. He cannot help himself. It feels like the first real smile since their mother told him she was going to make him king.

Because Zen is smiling widely, too.

And Izana thinks he can do it.

* * *

 _One year at the time. One goal every year._

* * *

The Crown Prince of Clarines rises as the new King, and the people's joy only pales in comparison to the brightness of Zen's smile.

"People of Clarines, I give you Izana Pax Wistalia, King of the Realm!"

And that is where the festivities begin.

* * *

Only when the sun has set Izana finds the time to return to his personal area of the library. He dismissed his guard at the door, so when he enters and finds someone tucked away in the window seat he freezes momentarily.

Curses his exhaustion, stands straighter.

The intruder unfurls with cat-like grace; silvery-white, thick hair falls down over her shoulders, elaborately braided. A shawl covers a dress that is much simpler than the one she wore during the celebrations; it hides nothing of her beauty.

"Your Majesty."

"Call me by my name, Haki."

She inclines her head in an answer that could be both consent and refusal.

"I apologize for intruding on your personal library. You must be exhausted. I will be taking my leave."

She is almost at the door when his brain catches up with her. "You do not have to leave on my behalf, Lady Haki." Two can play this game. "Please feel free to use this library whenever you desire."

The smile that flits over her face does not entirely reach her eyes, he is not sure what that means. "I am honored. Thank you, Your Majesty."

He wants to dismiss her then, actually does. Izana walks over to the window seat Haki vacated but just as he wants to sit, he hears her voice again. She is still in the door, her face shadowed, now, and regards him with an expression he cannot see.

"Would you care for some tea, Your Majesty?"

That, actually, is a good idea.

"Yes, please. Have someone send it here."

She nods quietly and slips out without a further word. Izana realizes, very suddenly and very unsubtly, that he is the only person left. He should have at least wished her a good night, should he not?

So what. He has no time for this.

Some minutes later the door opens again, quietly, and a tea cart rolls in; the soft scent of tea wafts through the air. Izana pays the soft clinking of porcelain and the pouring sound of tea no mind until he hears steps next to him, then he looks up – and directly into the eyes of his fiancée, Lady Haki Allurion. The tea cup she is holding out to him is unmistakably an offering.

Izana makes no move to accept the cup. "You do not have to prepare tea for me, Mylady."

"Oh, but I enjoy it."

"We have the appropriate staff for such tasks."

"I grew up in a provincial castle, Your Majesty, but rest assured that I know which personnel has which duties to fulfil."

"I expect, then, that you at least leave the washing and laundry to the servants, instead of doing it yourself."

"Has Roku's ambassador mentioned the increasing customs tariffs, Your Majesty?"

The sudden change in topic catches him off guard. He finally accepts the cup and takes a sip, gathering his thoughts.

"Is this tea from Lyrias?"

"In my estimation, he will approach you very soon if he has not done so until now. Roku has been trading goods with Lyrias for a long time now."

"The fragrance is interesting."

Haki smiles. "I am glad you like it, Your Majesty."

Izana is used to such kinds of conversations. He is used to people trying to push their topic on him, trying to make him do something they want him to do, trying to influence him through gifts or attention or whatsnots. Haki is doing nothing of all. He knows because his intuition tells him so, and his intuition has never failed him in the past. She is trying to tell him something, subtly, or maybe she is just making conversation? Of all the women he met, she is the one he can least understand. It is like she is wearing a mask, a polite, kind smile, and the underneath is hidden away.

Izana thinks he is maybe… a little bit… intrigued.

"Has your brother left for Lyrias already, Mylady?"

"Yes, Mylord." She gives him another one of her smiles. "Your Majesty. I never intended this to be a marriage purely out of political considerations. You are not only my king, but my fiancé, too."

Izana frowns. "What does that mean?"

The smile she gives him this time is different from the ones he has seen so far. "You will see, Your Majesty."

Izana is not sure what to make of it.

But the tea is sweet.

* * *

Clarines celebrates until long into the night.

A volume opens, a chapter begins.

The bells ring.

 _All hail the king!_


End file.
